


Talk Me Down

by scepterofstardust



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Gen, I wanted to write a version of the funeral so, Niki the Snake is mentioned but not present, SaruMi - Freeform, Sarumi Week 2017, here you go please don't hate me, somebody hug Saru for me and tell him i love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 16:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepterofstardust/pseuds/scepterofstardust
Summary: He should have known better than to think Saruhiko would stop being complicated just because there was a death in the family.





	Talk Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanted to write this for quite a while. There was just so many possibilities with Niki's funeral, and you guys know by now I have to explore every possible angst opportunity. Please don't kill me.

 

 

It had been an effort not to stare when Saruhiko had met him on the sidewalk outside of Yata's house to walk to the cemetery together. His friend was dressed in black, making his already unhealthy complexion look downright ghastly. It was raining, and within seconds, Saru's hair was plastered to his head, dripping water. He normally would have complained, but he walked at a sluggish pace to Yata, who halfheartedly scolded him and warned him that he would catch cold as he tugged him under the umbrella he had brought. The most frightening of all was his face. Yata had expected grief, had expected something plainer and more raw than Saruhiko's usual nonchalant default. 

 

He should have known better than to think Saruhiko would stop being complicated just because there was a death in the family.

 

Saruhiko's eyes were flat and lifeless, the cold blue boring into Yata. His mouth was set in a thin line, any words he may have said sealed in tight. 

 

"Saru?" Yata asked cautiously. Saruhiko met his gaze and wordlessly lifted his chin to the sidewalk. 

 

"Let's go." Yata nodded, silently resigning himself to not knowing what was going on in Saruhiko's head. It happened a lot these days. Well, always. He knew Saruhiko better than probably anybody, but that didn't mean he knew everything. Far from it. Yata suspected it would take more than his single lifetime to unravel the great mystery that was his best friend. He wanted to be alright with that, but really, he wasn't.

 

Especially when Saruhiko was walking beside him, expressionless in the rain, to his father's funeral. He wanted to know what to do for him, what to say, what to offer. But the fact was, he was at a loss.

 

Saruhiko said absolutely nothing on the way to the cemetery, but when they reached the long drive that led up to where people were gathered, he slowed to a stop. Yata looked up at him questioningly, stopping himself to keep the umbrella over Saruhiko's head.

 

"Hey. What's wrong?" Saruhiko's face didn't change as he stared up the road.

 

"Do..." Yata shifted his weight awkwardly. "Do you want to go up there?" All he needed was a shake of his head, maybe a muttered _no,_  and they would turn around and go back to the house and warm up with tea and blankets. If that was what Saru wanted.

 

But Saruhiko squared his shoulders and began walking again. Yata trailed after him anxiously.

 

"I do not," Saruhiko said without turning, "want to be here longer than I have to. If anyone offers you to stay, say no." Yata had barely avoided visibly jumping when Saru finally spoke. 

 

"O-Okay." They had reached the top of the hill at last, and Saruhiko added,

 

"And when we talk to them, don't give them your name." Yata felt his stomach tighten in some sort of dread. Saruhiko's demeanor was firm, full of vague warning as if they were going into battle.

 

Maybe they were.

 

Saruhiko didn't wait for his answer and set off towards the group of mourners, their black umbrellas obscuring their heads. It looked like a murder of crows, the shuffling movement like birds searching for food in the wet grass. Yata shuddered a little, sticking to Saru's side as they got closer.

 

Saruhiko bowed his head to each person they passed politely, but there was no emotion behind it. No disgust, no fondness, nothing in between. If he was forced to introduce himself, Saru did so blandly, meeting their dubious gaze with his freezing stare. As he predicted, a lot of people asked who Yata was, defensive as if they would kick him out of their exclusive party. He nervously told them he was a family friend, nothing more. Two of the women had snickered at him, finding the idea hilarious, and he felt Saruhiko tense up in anger. Yata kept his gaze close to the ground as they made their way through the group. He heard whispers following them.

 

_Saruhiko? Poor boy. His father really did screw him up._

 

_Is that really Niki's son?_

 

_I've never heard of him._

 

_Can you blame Niki for not mentioning him? He doesn't look like he could do much, does he?_

_What a weakling._

 

Yata grit his teeth. He was used to Saruhiko taking insults like they cost him nothing, and he was past the point of threatening everybody who talked bad about his best friend. Or at least, he had thought he was, until he felt his hands clenching into fists and words burning hot at the back of his throat.

 

_Fuck you,_ he wanted to scream at them _. You don't know anything at all._

 

He forced himself to snap out of it as they approached the headstone, the dirt in front of it still freshly overturned. Saruhiko stood there simply looking at it for several long moments, staring it down like it had personally challenged him.

 

"I'm sorry for your loss." It was what Yata's mother had instructed him to say. It was what you said when someone died, someone close. It felt awkward, though, too formal. To make up for it, Yata edged closer to Saruhiko and gently put a hand on his arm. He swallowed as he waited for an answer, feeling strangely afraid. There was so much more he wanted to say - _are you okay, please talk to me, I'm trying not to be scared but I am you look gone, you look dead, you don't look like my friend, please..._

 

This was uncharted territory for them. Yata had been with Saruhiko for a lot; through school, through his worst moments and his best. But he had never seen this.

 

Saruhiko's face revealed nothing, of course, but he was trembling. Yata could feel it through his suit jacket.

 

"Don't," Saruhiko choked out, his voice jagged. "Don't say that. Don't be."

 

"I won't," Yata promised.

 

Saruhiko's mask was breaking now, the image splintering until his face showed signs of distress, showed his rapid blinking to hold back the tears, showed his lip wobbling as he fought not to break down. Saru's shoulders were hunched and he seemed terribly small, in this moment. Yata felt his eyes stinging and he didn't hesitate to reach for Saruhiko's hand, not today, not when he was needed most. It was ice cold, but Yata squeezed hard, willing warmth into the skin. Saruhiko closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

 

"Do you want to go home?" Yata murmured. He wanted to get Saru away from here, away from all those people dressed in black laughing at him and away from the stone that read _FUSHIMI NIKI_ in icy marble. He wanted him to be secure, wanted to watch him relax as he sat on the couch and he made them food. He wanted, as always, to save him.

 

But Yata knew, as many times as he had bandaged scrapes and cuts, had thrown bullies into walls and taken bruises for him, he could not rescue him from the wounds he inflicted on himself, internal and invisible. For those, he could do nothing but stay at his side and hope that he was allowed an opportunity to try and soothe it. It was a guessing game, frustrating, but that had never stopped him.

 

Saruhiko silently knelt down in the grass, letting go of Yata's hand, and plucked a flower from one of the bouquets that had been carefully arranged around the grave. It was a blue rose, uncommon, the thorns still attached. Yata watched as Saruhiko's lip curled in something dangerously close to disgust, and he yanked at the petals, ruthlessly pulling them off one by one. When he was finished, he crumpled the remains in his hand and let them fall to the ground. He straightened, gripping the stem in his fist as he threw it as hard as he could into the field. Yata flinched, confused, and grabbed Saruhiko's wrist. "Hey." Saruhiko's eyes settled on Yata, placid as if nothing had happened. Yata took his hand and inhaled sharply as he saw the blood. The thorns had gouged cuts into his palm and the undersides of his fingers. Saruhiko didn't so much as wince, just observed the rain drops landing on his hand as if they held some fantastic mystery. Yata shook his head, wishing he had bandages with him. 

 

"Why did you do that?" He felt like he wouldn't get an answer, but he tried anyways. Saruhiko only wrapped cold fingers around his, not holding too tight so the cuts wouldn't gush or open wider.

 

"Yes."

 

"What?" Yata was frowning in worry, watching the small drops of blood dripping off of their joined hands.

 

"Let's go home," Saruhiko clarified, beginning to head back towards the road. Yata followed him, dumbfounded. They trudged down the driveway side by side. The only noise was the rain splattering onto the umbrella above their heads. Yata clenched his jaw at the warmth he felt running down his palm. Fear sloshed around in his chest with every step, fear at why Saru had sneered at his father's grave, at what Saruhiko might have done if he had gone back to that house with no one to hold onto him. No one to make sure the damage was less than a few cuts.

 

Yata shivered, squeezing Saru's hand as tight as he dared. He moved closer to him, the instinct to protect crawling under his skin. 

 

"Are you cold?"

 

"Yeah," Yata lied sheepishly. Saruhiko allowed the proximity with a click of his tongue. 

 

"And here you're scolding me."

 

"...Shut up." That earned him a weak ghost of a smirk, and Yata counted it as a victory. They traveled the rest of the way in a more comfortable silence, and Yata unlocked the apartment door. Saruhiko immediately collapsed on the couch, and Yata sighed at him as he went into the kitchen. While dinner was cooking, he waved his best friend into the bathroom.

 

"Sit on the counter, let me look at it," Yata coaxed. Saruhiko sulked a bit before complying, hoisting himself up onto the counter. Yata took some ointment and bandages out of the medicine cabinet and gingerly took Saruhiko's injured hand in his own. He examined it and found that the cuts had stopped bleeding. "You still feel cold," Yata lamented. "You should take a hot shower after this so you don't get sick." The other boy made a small grunt of agreement, rather than his usual biting comment. Yata looked up from unwrapping a bandage, eyebrows raised. He found Saruhiko leaning his head against the wall, eyes drooping shut. 

 

"You didn't really sleep last night, huh?" Yata guessed quietly, feeling his chest ache. He got a nod of agreement. "I'll make it quick, I promise." Saruhiko winced as bandages were wrapped around his palm, then his fingers. "Sorry." 

 

"Stings," Saruhiko mumbled.

 

_It wouldn't if you weren't so intent on self destruction,_ Yata almost retorted. He knew better, though, and he secured the bandages before stepping back from the counter. Saruhiko got down, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. He might have teased him about it, if Yata didn't know precisely why he was so exhausted. Instead, he led him to the kitchen for dinner, and hoped that somehow, he could make it better.

 

* * *

 

Yata sighed into the darkness of the bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. He listened to the restless sounds in the bunk below him that had been going on for several hours now. At last he couldn't stand it anymore and he wiggled over to the edge of his bed, peering down and spotting Saruhiko curled up on his side facing the wall. 

 

"Saru?" he whispered.

 

"What?" Saruhiko rubbed at his face tiredly.

 

"Can't sleep?" Yata asked even though he knew the answer.

 

"No," Saruhiko admitted, rolling over to look up at him. 

 

"Makes two of us." Yata propped himself up on his elbows. Even in the dark, Saruhiko looked troubled, and his eyes were puffy. "Is there...anything I can do?" He offered hesitantly. Saruhiko rarely sought comfort outright, so he wasn't really sure what he was meant to do. Maybe he could sleep in Saruhiko's bed like when he had nightmares? Saruhiko heaved out a sigh and slowly reached his hand out towards Yata in a silent invitation. Yata swallowed and took his hand, watching thin, pale fingers intertwine with his. He saw Saruhiko's eyes close and the tension drain out of his body. "Saru, I..." Yata took a deep breath. "I don't know anything, I don't know what this is like for you, but..." He tightened his grip and tried to smile reassuringly. "You're gonna make it, you know?"

 

"Right," Saruhiko replied, his voice rough. He was smiling faintly, as if he'd been told a joke. It made Yata's stomach twist. 

 

"I'll make sure you do," he vowed. "I'm not going anywhere." Saruhiko opened his eyes a fraction, fixing him with a flat stare.

 

"Yeah," he said quietly, throwing his free arm over his eyes. Yata bit his lip.

 

"Want me to come down there?" It was just a suggestion, but Saruhiko nodded at once. Yata clambered down from the top bunk without letting go of Saruhiko's hand and laid down beside him, rolling onto his side and pulling their hands between them. Saruhiko remained on his back, eyes covered. Yata watched him worriedly for a few moments before he settled into the blankets, feeling sleep pulling at him. He slowly slipped under, with Saruhiko's hand in his. 

 

Somewhere between dream and reality, he swore to himself that he would keep that promise. 

 

No matter what it cost.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I really am.
> 
> tumblr: scepterofstardust  
> twitter: lunatic_yoongi


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